still working on it

i'm working on it

i'm working on it

i'm

working

on

it

i've got my own brand of patriotism. it comes with nights of emptiness, where i show my true colours. the real meaning of independence. i'm hanging this flag as a warning for you to keep your range. it'll be better if you keep your distance. it'll be better if you just keep away. i am marching to the beat of a dead horse.

i let things that don't effect my daily life

effect me late at night

i take everyones worries and concerns

and downfalls and heartbreaks

and i fold them into tiny squares

and keep them all in my pockets

until my pockets are too full

and then i pull them out

one by one

and read them

analyze them closely

and delicately and tenderly

and they worry me and concern me

and break my fucking heart

i would like to keep them buried in my pockets

safe and quiet

but sometimes quiet things get loud

quiet is temporary

quiet can erupt and sting our eardrums

and when these folded pieces of paper gather in my pockets

they howl and they cry and they beg to be read

and maybe this means i'm just sympathetic

or maybe this means i avoid my own problems

by looking into others

of all the papers i pull from my pockets

none if it

and i mean none of it

is in my handwriting

maybe this is a sign to stop being so quiet

because it's okay to howl and cry sometimes

at least that's what i tell myself

most of the time, your feet are the same whether he's there or not

and most of the time, my feet were the same whether you were here or not

and i take it hard, i take it to heart, and it tears me apart

and i get so tired in that 3 o'clock sun,

it grows right on time, right in front of me

i'm falling in and out again

put yourself in my place for just one day

watch all the colours in your spectrum fade grey

more aware than ever that i might never be calm again

and it shakes every fucking bone

trying to do the right thing on my own

so i let the ink tell you how

i come to grips with all of this

i'm getting too old for this

what do you know? my shoes are my own

tread the granite til you find

some kind of place to call home

not broke, just bent

i appreciate every single ounce of your existence and i don't think i tell you that enough but i will try to more because you really do deserve to hear it as often as i think it

i'm tired of taking baby steps, i want to do something big now

it's been nine months of falling asleep with a blue glow washing over us because we've stayed up too late and the sun is starting to peek through cracks in the sky. it's been nine months of waking up to a squinting boy, oblivious to the hour, drinking up every extra second of sleep. it's been nine months of figuring out what makes you boil over, what makes you stir, and what makes you cool down. it's been nine months of unexpectedly drowning in a pool of you, of us, of everything i'd wanted but never thought i'd have. it's been nine months of learning to let my fingers dance over your shoulderblades, and yours to glide up my ribcage. it's been nine months of letting myself fall entirely in love with you, never growing tired of you, and wanting this to happen again and again, over and over, for as many months as humanly possible.

bottling everything up throughout the course of the day makes for absolutely terrible nights.

i wish i could produce enough body heat

to keep me warm all through winter,

to keep from shaking in this bed,

frozen like a layer of frost on the glass.

only i can trace our names on that frost,

and i can't in my bedsheets.

i need one finger for writing our initials

but if you come back to the imprint you first left,

the sheets and mattress slightly sunken from your body,

i could use all ten to discover all of you.

i let problems that don't revolve around my life get to me and it gets me so fucking down because there is nothing i can do to help.

tired, creatively drained, and 100% completely sick of every single pretentious person in this motherfucking institution.

how many people have told you

they love you and in how many

languages how many beds

and moonlights and decades of life

when you're out, tell your lucky one to know that you'll leave.

but don't lock when you're fleeing, i'd like not to hear keys.

only hold 'til your coffee warms, but don't hurry and speed.

one time put a tongue in your ear in the beach, and you clutched kicking heels.

screw poetry, it's you i want, your taste, rain on you, mouth on your skin

buy me a ring that will turn my finger green

so i can imagine our love is a forest

remembering when it all changed, remembering when i was low and when i was above the clouds, remembering how it felt to be wrong and right and messed up and just fine and everything in between, everything, everything, everything.

and i'm trying to write it all down, trying to keep track of every detail, every fragment of a memory that slips through my mind is being written down.

right now i remember that car. i remember that cold, metal wall covered in bad teenage graffiti. i remember that garage, that hockey net that doubled as a table for five minutes in time. i remember that bed, that fucking bed. i remember that balcony, and the lights in the city, and the feeling of being trapped and free at the same time.

i didn't expect any of these moments but they changed me one way or another.

i'm going back to them. i'm documenting them. i'm finally doing something important to me.

"you're in a relationship because you need help, but that's not necessarily why you should be in a relationship. and that's skinny. it doesn't have weight. skinny love doesn't have a chance because it's not nourished."

not a whole lot to do tonight, green tea with lemon, tallest man on earth, and everything i never thought i'd write about someone all crammed into one hard cover moleskine. i have had a beautiful weekend.

i hate that i can't accept anything more than the worn out soles of my shoes

in your arms there is nothing left but water and even that will slip through your fingers soon. i just want to remember all the little details, the ones you thought were insignificant. one day we'll wake up somewhere far away from this city and from these people and we'll be in a different bed. the light will pour in and the morning will be hazy and warm and our fingers will have dried from the water residing in them now, but although we may not be as restless or young as we are now too, our hearts will beat the same.

late last night

i know you're falling asleep but let me come closer and tell you i love you again before you dream your way to noon tomorrow. it's 3:10 am, we are one day away from 8 months, and i'm still finding new ways to fall for you over and over.

it is all up to you

i remember how it felt to be destroyed and torn apart piece by piece inch by inch until we were nothing but a pile of bones. nothing in common, nothing, just wanting to delve into something deeper than skin. fingers spread like roots on a dirty mattress but they didn't do it for me, i felt lost but i let the thought slide down my dry throat. cold, i felt so cold, there was so much space between us, but i needed it to be that way, i couldn't let anything be too warm, if the temperature were to rise then i would burst. i hated myself for letting it be this cold, i needed a fucking sweater, but i couldn't bring myself to find one. the selfish parts in me took over and i accepted the cold, i shivered and shook and my bones lay out on display and all i wanted after was redemption and enough words in the english language to make up for this mess of bones.

is this the right mountain for us to climb?

is this the way to live for you to be mine?

is this the right river for us to ford?

is this the way you live for me to be yours?

is this the way to live for me to be yours?

is this the way to live?

is it wrong to want more?

she was extending a hand that i didn't know how to take, so i broke its fingers with my silence

the days go by slowly and the nights are even longer

and my head hurts all the fucking time

i'm just trying to get through this week

at least that's what i keep telling myself

you give me a summer rose-red and

still nothing tastes as sweet as your name

on a streetcar ad this morning

it's almost winter.

ice will make all the distances that much further.

kiss now. speak now.

before the river freezes altogether.

nothing better than you beside me with a cool blue light washing over your face because we went to bed at four in the morning but at ten past seven we're still awake learning there's still some things we can discover about each other

and just when my night was bad enough

you're gone

too bad you didn't return the last two years of my life

when you checked out

fuck you, end of story

so i woke up this morning and took a couple deep breaths and decided to take control of my day

i can still feel your fingertips grazing my side

two minutes is just never enough

this is the worst

take me, take me back to your bed

i love you so much that it hurts my head

i don't mind you under my skin

i'll let the bad parts in, the bad parts in

are you always sad? someone asked.

(always is such a long, long time.)

i couldn't say. but.

if sadness was a sea, i'd drown in it.

(salty and warm, sadness is.)

(cold, too. sometimes.)

and i happen to love the sea.

you tried to taste me

and i taped my tongue to the southern tip

of your body. our bones are too heavy

to come up, squished into a single cell of wood.

i made an excuse, you found another way

to tell the truth. i put no one else

above us. we'll still be best friends when

all turns to dust.

you are so smooth now. our edges are

beaten, drift wood widdled down.

old bodies slip when they make love.

we'll mine our sparks to shout us above.

i find myself following the same routines

back to the places i've always been

but noticing more every time

finding new cracks to step over

new views that i missed last time i was here

i've found the indents in the sailboat

on your neck and i've noticed your

smell, all too familiar but stronger

since i haven't been this close to you in awhile

and i like how your lips hover over mine

late at night when we're reckless and whispering

your arms are smooth and your hipbones

protrude a bit and you just feel so warm

and i like when you say you miss me

even when i'm right here

and the only reason i slept in today was so

i wouldn't have to be away from you

i wanted nothing more than to hear how you miss me

so i could inch my way closer and kiss your cheek

and say hey

i'm right here

i'm right here

you make it worth it, no matter what, always and forever.

it is my third week of school and i've already broken down in tears thinking that i will never finish everything that i need to finish. i'm just so fucking tired and overwhelmed.

i've become selective of

what i'd like to build my life around

what i'd like to keep in and

what i'd like to throw out

no matter how much i try to cut out though

i'm still scared

i'm scared of souls getting old and worn

i'm scared that i've been wrung out

too many times

i'm trying not to let my fears loom over me

like ghosts and thick fog

i've busied myself lately with remembering

the taste of sweat and the sound of screen doors

and everything else comforting from the summer

that's slipped through my fingers

and how i want it back

i can't function with intangible things

slipping through my fingers - i need yours

with the gold ring on your right hand

laced through mine, holding on tight

i can't let them through

this is going to be a difficult year

but i'm not letting your fingers slip away

like the summer slipped away

quiet and calm

it's just that

it's easier to recognize what's missing than

to realize what's been here all along

i'm trying to work on the latter because

our fingers will still be laced together tomorrow

and i will fall asleep beside you and

hold every second of it in my grasp

i know i'm not that far away but it feels

like i'm on the other side of the world

sometimes

and i miss you so much

always

boris mikhailov hand-coloured his black and white photos to mimic the way soviet propoganda added sickeningly bright colours to their 'grey' and upsetting posters. extremely affected by the soviets, boris included a handwritten caption on a photo he failed to colour completely: everything here is so grey in grey that there isn't even anything to color.

i will start publishing to do lists here to feel more organized

• finish colour print of burning couch, write down ALL printing info
• take photos of jordan at 3, finish roll of point & shoot
• bring to shoppers at king & yonge, develop film, get prints
• eat something
• go home, scan last photo, size it to a 4x6
• type up photo descriptions, pray to god jordan's printer works
• write review of boris mikhailov exhibit at MOMA
• go to sleep
• be out the door tomorrow by 9 to print photos @ copy center
• be ON TIME for artist talk at 11:30

some lovers promise their girl the stars. i wouldn't do that. what would a girl want to do with a billion-tons heavy, rotating hydrogen-helium ball? no, my girl should have an ocean, preferably the atlantic ocean, because it is the one i have seen and i consider it appropriate. an ocean manages itself, it is there, friendly in the morning, you can swim in it, you can wonder about the color of the water, you can build a ship to get over to the other side. the stars have their own place up there, and it is a good place for them, i think when i see them dancing. but the ocean, the ocean should always be where you are, it is practical to have an ocean near you. it is good for becoming what you were born to be, beautiful and without worries.

the concept of home is a strange one. i've found places to call a home and they're disappearing right in front of me. i'm finding new places i'd like to call home and still feeling a little lost and uncomfortable. i can't sleep here. i find myself pacing around my room every night trying to catch a hint of something familiar but i guess i don't have a tight enough grip on anything anymore. i feel like i have to force myself to be mature but i've never felt so young and naive.

i dream too much

and i don't write enough

one of us was good at listening to sad songs when it was still daylight and the other one was good at letting the lyrics anchor themselves bone deep. i am as heavy as the sea, and just as blue. guess who was who. i understand now why hurricanes rise from oceans, understand how heavy the atlantic must feel with its anchors, and sunken ships, and drowned bodies. imagine the weight. i would grow myself from a storm too, kiss it hard on the mouth and call it irene, set it free with a promise of destruction had i spent seasons of watching some couples fall in love, felt others stumble drunkenly out of it and into the sea. that's the problem, everything makes me sad now: couples in love, couples out of it, young people who never leave, young people who do, broken boys, unbroken boys - everything is tragic because i am. it's nothing. it's the kind of tragedy you find in the eyes of teenagersafter a bloody summer. i'm tragic, it's pitiful, tragic and bitter. but bitter especially - mostly i'm bitter. bitter because i'm the one that's still here, because i was the ocean, am still the ocean, will always be the ocean, because i grew heavier in the songs while you opened your mouth to sing them and the wind hit the inside of your cheeks hard enough to make them into sails and whisper you away.

i'm looking for the space between bedsheets.

holes in this tiny atmosphere.

anything to grasp with my fragile hands.

i can't deny that i'm always thinking of you.

there isn't much left to want, nothing that isn't futile at least.

it's quiet here, but i'm comfortable.

that means something, right?

i can use my imagination to fill in the blanks for the time being.

my body is useless without your arms swarming it.

you are what i know.

i miss you already.

listen. it's morning. soon i'll see your hand reach

for my watch, the water will agitate in the kettle,

but listen. traffic. i want your dreams first. and

to slide my leg beneath yours before the day opens.

wait. we slept late. you'll be moody, the phone

will ring, someone wanting something. let me put

my hands in your hair. who i was with last night i would

be again. this is how the future holds me, how depression

wakes with us; my body shelters it. let me

put my head on your breast. i know nothing lasts.

i would try to hold you back, not out of meanness

but fear. oh my practical, my worldly-wise. you

know how the body falters, falls in on itself. tell me

that we will never want from each other what we

cannot have. lie. it's morning.

i don't want to go anywhere tonight unless it involves you, parks and recreation, and my bed

distance is nothing

more than a few extra

fingertips and

soft breaths and

warm whispers and

heavy eyelids

between us.

nothing more,

nothing more

i am utterly exhausted and i haven't even made it through the next forty eight hours yet

when you open the door

it's like christmas '93

i know it scares you

when i seem a little less than me

you tell me the things that seem to go as planned

never really do

but i feel alright

yes i feel alright with you

keep my aim true like you wanted me to

just as i was getting used to falling asleep next to you

i need you so much closer

touching him was always so important to me. it was something i lived for. i never could explain why. little, nothing touches. my fingers against his shoulder. the outsides of our thighs touching as we squeezed together n the bus. i couldn't explain it but i needed it. sometimes i imagined stitching all of our little touches together. how many hundreds of thousands of fingers brushing against each other does it take it make love? why does anyone ever make love?

"i've never loved you more."

we started marking off areas in the apartment as 'Nothing Places', in which one could be asured of complete privacy, we agreed that we would look at the marked-off zones, that they would be nonexistent territories in the apartment in which one could temporarily cease to exist. the side of the door that faced the guest room was Nothing, the side that faced the hallway was Something, the knob that connected them was neither Something nor Nothing. the walls of the hallway were Nothing, even pictures need to disappear, especially pictures, but the hallway itself was Something, the bathtub was Nothing, the bathwater was Something, the hair on our bodies was Nothing, of course, but once it collected around the drain it was Something, we were trying to make our lives easier, trying, with all of our rules, to make life effortless. but a friction began to arise between Nothing and Something, in the morning the Nothing vase cast a Something shadow, like the memory of someone you've lost, what can you say about that, at night the Nothing light from the guest room spilled under the Nothing door and stained the SOmething hallway, there's nothing to say. it became difficult to navigate from Something to Something without accidentally walking through Nothing, and when Something - a key, a pen, a pocketwatch - was accidentally left in a Nothing place, it never could be retrieved, that was an unspoken rule, like nearly all of our rules have been.

written at 6th and 11th, then 15 floors up on spring street

i sat in a cafe today

i went alone and walked until my feet hurt

followed a straight path until i heard clinking glasses

and loud laughs

so i turned right

and walked inside

asked for a table for one

and didn't feel uncomfortable

a woman stared at me as i seated myself in a booth

between a couple making compromises

if she wanted the booth

or if he wanted to split a burger

they didn't stay long

and she ended up sitting in the booth

leaving crumbs behind on the maroon coloured seat

and two middle aged men

both without wedding rings

knocking back fruity drinks

i wondered if they were gay

i read two chapters of a book and underlined

three lines i fell in love with

as i always do

and that woman continued to stare

as if she had never seen someone enjoying their own company

in her entire life

i drank two cups of coffee

i wondered if anyone else was here alone

or anywhere else in this city alone

quietly basking in comfort

and drowning their thoughts in caffeine

it looked like the wind from outside

was causing the ceiling fans to spin

i waited twenty minutes for the bill

and left a two dollar tip

the waiter was balding and sweating

maybe from overworking

who knows

i walked back quickly

taking photos of peoples backs

and of fallen branches in the street

i know they're nothing special

but i'll need reminders of this later

and now i'm hovering 15 floors over a stormy street

wind making the glass windows surrounding

one third of the room creak and groan

under their pressure

blowing in every direction

the building across the street is deserted

windows boarded and taped up

thin grey gutters in two of the windows

flap open as the gusts of wind grab them from underneath

making them surrender and slap against each other

and although i can't hear them

i know they're making a lot of noise

the sun just came out

for the first time in forty eight hours perhaps

and now everything feels new

i was worried about the windows smashing earlier

but that thought is long gone now

i think i've decided that we're only scared of heights

when we're put in situations that make us realize we should be scared

resting hands on your emptied lungs and if you'll

hold still i'll just

sink

didn't really think about the stars i've been holding hostage

just tacked them to the wall to hide the empty

and closed our eyes too tight to squint through

your phosphenes aren't enough,

the tree rings don't bother,

we're bound for home without any sense of direction

i wanted to start

with the truth

somewhere between

"i can't love"

and

"anything i can

hold."

i want you

and i want to be the

scent on your skin

you take with you to work in the morning

better than a note in a lunch box

you know i'll be

between your sheets

when you come home in the evening.

does any one else sense it?

do they smell my

spice perfume

where i left it on your

chest and waist and

earlobes?

creature fear by bon iver is the only song that i can listen to over and over and still feel the exact same every single time, a hard punch in the gut, a hammer to the knees, a chill straight through my spine, goosebumps all up my legs and down my arms, and a fire ignited right below my heart causing it to melt on the spot

holy fuck

you're in a car with a beautiful boy, and he won't tell you that he loves you, but he loves you. and you feel like you've done something terrible, like robbed a liquor store, or swallowed pills, or shoveled yourself a grave in the dirt, and you're tired. you're in a car with a beautiful boy, and you're trying not to tell him that you love him, and you're trying to choke down the feeling, and you're trembling, but he reaches over and he touches you, like a prayer for which no words exist, and you feel your heart taking root in your body, like you've discovered something you didn't even have a name for.

we sort of all just got comfortable, made love

to all our gold and got glad that we had breath

enough to tell the story to someone else like you but

you might like what happened the next day

i saw it and helped clean up, let's just say

we sure paid double for playing hookey

i need someone to ignite a spark under my feet and force me to run wild. i feel myself getting boring and i can't stand it. take me on adventures and give me something to look forward to. i'm just too tired all the time.

in another time this would've been an exciting day for me but now it's only a strong, overwhelming reminder of how much two years has changed me as a person

sometimes i wonder if you are thinking of me

even when you are with me

and we are still and silent

in the dark and under separate covers

when i settle on yes

i kiss the inch of your arm closest to me

and you kiss my head

and we search for each others lips blindly

i try to sing songs with my tongue

and grazes on your back with my fingertips

i'm never sure if they're loud enough

but i usually settle on yes

every day i spend with you

brings me closer to a place i never thought i'd be

we intertwine like state lines on a map

i'm new here but i've never felt more at home

i crave your mouth, your voice, your hair.

silent and starving, i prowl through the streets.

bread does not nourish me, dawn disrupts me, all day.

i hunt for the liquid measure of your steps.

i hunger for your sleek laugh,

your hands the color of a savage harvest,

hnger for the pale stones of your fingernails,

i want to eat your skin like a whole almond.

i want to eat the sunbeam flaring in your lovely body,

the sovereign nose of your arrogant face,

i want to eat the fleeting shade of your lashes,

and i pace around hungry, sniffing the twilight,

hunting for you, for your hot heart,

like a puma in the barrens of quitratue.

i could write a novel about your peach fuzz

the fragile blonde on your ears

the dusting on your arms

the tempting trail that leads me down

down

down

down

so irresistable,

i don't have enough hands some nights

"IF YOU HAVE A CHOICE NEVER HAVE A JOB.
One night I was sitting in my car outside Columbia University where my wife Shirley was studying Anthropology. While I was waiting I was listening to the radio and heard an interviewer ask ‘Now that you have reached 75 have you any advice for our audience about how to prepare for your old age?’ An irritated voice said ‘Why is everyone asking me about old age these days?’ I recognised the voice as John Cage. I am sure that many of you know who he was – the composer and philosopher who influenced people like Jasper Johns and Merce Cunningham as well as the music world in general. I knew him slightly and admired his contribution to our times. ‘You know, I do know how to prepare for old age’ he said. ‘Never have a job, because if you have a job someday someone will take it away from you and then you will be unprepared for your old age. For me, it has always been the same every since the age of 12. I wake up in the morning and I try to figure out how am I going to put bread on the table today? It is the same at 75, I wake up every morning and I think how am I going to put bread on the table today? I am exceedingly well prepared for my old age’ he said."

life is for the living

i've heard tell that it is why we are young

in the morning sun

you take every year as it comes

but when your life is over

all those years fold up like an accordion

they collapse just like a broken lung

i think about you

(always)

i remember the day i first met you. a firm handshake, a warm smile, constant eye contact. it was winter. i had been at this god awful party for half an hour, already half drunk because i didn't want to deal with a whiney friend complaining about her current boyfriend. you had just arrived, cheeks rosy from the cold. we chatted about where we wanted to go to school, who we were friends with at the party, who we wanted to avoid, and what plans we had for christmas break. you were a wonderful distraction but you disappeared from my life shortly after that and our talk was a fleeting moment in my mind. we met again months later, by chance, on a train, and spent the next forty minutes catching up and i was reminded of your infectious laugh, your kind eyes, your way with words when i talked about being unsure if i was completely content with what i was doing with my life. another long while passed, then we met again, on another train, and we laughed and joked and you hugged me and now i can feel that hug hovering in my mind and i am so heartbroken even though we only met three times. i remember everything about you and i often find myself wishing you'd stumble onto the train when my ipod dies and i sit in boredom for those forty minute rides from toronto to pickering. you told me once about the night that you spent lying on the hood of your car looking at the stars because they made sense, they mapped out noticeable constellations and you understood them, and it started to rain, and it was wet and cold and heavy and it made sense too, and now it's raining and all i want is to lie on the hood of a car and stare into the sky and feel like everything makes sense. but you didn't deserve this, you didn't fucking deserve to die. this doesn't make sense. this doesn't make any sense at all.

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i fell in love with you at the foot of a bed. i've loved many other things, and places, and people, and moments, but i'll always remember being basked in a blue glow, naked to the core and glistening in a thin layer of each others sweat, and knowing that this was important and i felt in love. i know you care and i know you will continue to care and i know you've cared this whole time but i just can't get that feeling out of my mind that i'm a millstone wrapped around your neck sometimes, annoying and needy. i try not to be and i have been telling myself to go right to sleep and keep everything out of my mind, but i can't get over that hill. it's too steep and i can't walk it alone. i love you, i do, i really do, but i feel like i care far too much sometimes. i'm trying to look on the bright side of everything and i'm trying to keep calm and collected but i feel too much. i'm always trying to put it into words for you but i can really only say that i feel too much and too often and i'm trying to better myself but please forgive me for now. all i need is some kind words and i promise i'll sleep soft once again.

i can hear a bug,

a nameless

anonymous bug,

stuck between the walls

to the right of my head,

fluttering its wings,

wanting out

so fucking badly.

sometimes

i feel the same.

you move awfully quiet here now

and i still feel you everywhere

breaking out for the first time in my life, in more ways than one, watching the rain break free from the sky thinking "that's ironic"

i'm trying not to think so much anymore instead of processing everything and pushing thoughts out of my skin and out of my mouth, forceful and unpleasant

i'm trying to turn out the lights and go to sleep, leaving it at that, nothing more nothing less but it's proving to be harder than it sounds

i can sleep alone tonight, i can, i don't want to, but i can, and i will and i will focus on my beating heart and an imaginary arm behind my head because that's how this works right?

and i will ignore body parts calling for you to break out of your shell and smother me in all the right ways and i will not overthink this i will not overthink this

i will blindly stare into the dark ceiling on this dark night and i will try to sleep tight because that's all i should be doing anyway right?

there has to be a way to keep from falling through the cracks in the sidewalk, keep me up here, putting parachutes on my ankles so gravity won't swallow me so quick and maybe you could grab my strings and swing me safe, catch me lest i crumble, stop me before the cliffs do

still alive for you, love

and at once i knew i was not magnificent

i hope that one day you will have the experience of doing something you do not understand for someone you love.

car rides home from perfect nights out

"maybe my knees are weak because i was standing on uneven ground for 3 hours or maybe it's because i am listening to a song i just saw live performed by a band i love and i am sitting in the car in complete silence with the boy i love and i wish i had spent the song holding his hand instead of watching it through my phone but regardless i am so content right now because we don't need to say anything and we can just sit here and drive fast with the windows down and blast this music and be silently but fully in love

maybe

just maybe"

i don't understand this

sometimes my body feels too heavy for certain moments and i'm like a newborn child with holes in my heart, too young and naive to grasp quiet thoughts i can't even speak about yet. i try to tell myself that the world is a beautiful place sometimes but i feel the weight of it on my shoulders and i just can't grasp that concept. that life is presenting tangible things in front of me but all i can do is let them fall through the holes in my heart. fall, and fall, and fall. so these feelings keep falling and my back keeps breaking and i keep thinking about the time my father introduced me to led zeppelin in his car, telling me that it would change my life, and the time that i chased my brother down the hot sidewalk barefoot, and how i tripped and ripped my toenail off, too stunned to cry, and how that was the first time in my life that i realized shit happens and it sucks but nails grow back and i forget about holding grudges and i can't listen to led zeppelin without thinking of my father and wishing i wasn't such a music snob these days because there's so much more he can show me and there's so much more i can learn and so many more cuts and scabs and bruises and scrapes i can get but they'll all heal. so maybe these holes in my heart can heal too. maybe i can patch them with these memories that are imprinted into my brain, taking them and bending them into tiny squares, and fitting them in the creases in my heart, keeping them for when i need them most. maybe they're safer there.

you are the only thing i write about

i've always been scared to grow up. i've always been intrigued by the unknown but the concept of getting old and stacking my responsibilities on bookshelves to let them collect dust on their spines and stress in my gut has never been something i've looked forward to. then i met you. i used to spend countless hours of countless nights lying awake and wondering where i'll be in five years, ten years, twenty years. i don't think about that anymore. i spend my nights anxiously awaiting tomorrow or the next day or whenever i'll see you next. i've never wanted the future but knowing i'll have you around tomorrow and the next day comforts me and puts me at ease. i can blow the dust off the bookshelves and let my stomach settle because even though i am growing up and there is nothing i can do to stop it, i have you by my side and for now that is enough.

i want to know how many scars you have

and memorize the shape of your tongue.

i want to climb the curve of your lower back

and count your vertebrae

your ribs

your fingers

your goose bumps.

i want to chart the topography of your anatomy

and be fluent in your body language

i want you, entire.

you remind me of everything good in this world and even though we joke about it all the time, i'm in this for the long haul. you are exactly what i need and i'm not going anywhere.

i tried to forget

but you grew roots around my ribcage

and sprouted flowers

just below my collarbones.

all day i pluck their petals

but i have not yet ascertained

whether you love me

or not

and so it is

just like you said it would be

life goes easy on me

most of the time

and so it is

the shorter story

no love, no glory

no hero in her sky

i can't take my eyes off of you

and so it is

just like you said it would be

we'll both forget the breeze

most of the time

and so it is

the colder water

the blower's daughter

the pupil in denial

i can't take my eyes off of you

did i say that i loathe you?

did i say that i want to

leave it all behind?

i can't take my eyes off of you

'til i find

somebody

new

every night
after a day with you

i sit and write

about a certain break through;

you see i love you more today
than i did yesterday.

every night.

late night downfalls

to be content is to be in between emotions, residing on a ledge between happy and sad or anxious and mad or any two opposites. it is nothing special. it is safe. i want to feel something more than this.

"you strike me as someone who really wants to try and see and find things you maybe don't fully understand in the world and right now you 'get' everything you've got."

this is one of the best things i've ever been told and i will never forget it

if i could open my arms and span the length of the isle of manhattan, i'd bring it to where you are, making a lake of the east river and hudson.

if i could open my mouth wide enough for a marching band to march out, they would make your name sing and bend through alleys and bounce off all the buildings.

i wish we could open our eyes to see in all directions at the same time. oh what a beautiful view if you were never aware of what was around you.

and it is true what you said, that i live like a hermit in my own head. but when the sun shines again, i'll pull the curtains and blinds to let the light in.

sorrow drips into your heart through a pinhole, just like a faucet that leaks and there is comfort in the sound. but while you debate half empty or half full, it slowly rises. your love is gonna drown.

i'm looking deeper into the meaning and sticking my head into the dark spaces of the closet and seeing the flecks of dust on my windowsill and the crooked bones in my fingers and the corners of your smile and the holes in the music where the drums cut out and the piano fills the emptiness and the goosebumps on my legs rise and everything is in place, even the things i never noticed before

i woke up this morning

in between your sheets

and wrapped in your arms.

i had never seen the way the

tired sun can pour through your window

like honey

so slow and thick and sweet.

i think i was born again that moment

or maybe even for the first time

i am sitting cross legged on a stiff upholstered seat and we are stopped somewhere between cobourg and toronto. the landscape is grassy and rural, a few electrical poles, but mostly just nature for as far back as i can see. holocene by bon iver is playing through my headphones and ashley and justin are asleep across from me, leaned back in the same stiff upholstered seats as mine, open laptops playing whatever music puts them to sleep. we are almost home. i am hungry, sleepy, and in need of a shower, but i am perfectly content being on the road with two good friends, knowing that i have a disposable camera full of mediocre photos of bands i really love and a bunch of bruises i received in order to take these mediocre photos, pushing through crowds, fighting to be closer than everyone else to these bands that i really love. i get to see bon iver in a week, and maybe he'll play holocene, and maybe i'll think about this moment that i'm experiencing right now, and maybe, just maybe, a wave of contentment will flow through me and i will look to my right and see the girl who is sleeping across from me right now, and then look to my left and see the boy i will probably wake up to the next day, and i will smile just like i am right now. we are almost home.

• slept in, got all day breakfast, went shopping, bought two shirts and a pair of black shorts (finally), decided we didn't care enough about cypress hill to go over that early.
• got to osheaga right as beirut was about to start, got a decent spot a few rows from the front but more to the right side of the stage. i had to stand directly behind a pda-crazy couple who were inhaling their cigarettes, then kissing, passing the smoke, and watching the other exhale it. it was bad. someone moved, and we got a bit closer, but i was beind another pda-crazy couple. overall, they are beautiful live but a little boring to watch. he had ukelele difficulties so he only got to play postcards from italy, but that one's my favourite so i didn't mind much. elephant gun was incredible.
• left beirut a bit early to sit down since we were so tired. listened to city and colour. they were cut short since beirut ran a bit behind schedule. only 6 songs, but i didn't mind again since i've seen them three times before.
• went to their stage to get a good spot for death cab while tragically hip played. actually got to hear bobcaygeon live, which was really good. we were about 3 rows from the front for death cab, but the crowd was annoying. a fight almost broke out with a drunk blonde bitch and a mellow brown guy in a fedora because she wanted to be front and center (which he was) even though she only knew the words to crooked teeth and nothing else.
• they were incredible live too, but the setlist was slightly disappointing. in order: i will possess your heart, crooked teeth, doors unlocked and open, grapevine fires (which i did NOT expect them to play, but i was so insanely stoked on), soul meets body, you are a tourist, the new year, cath..., we looked like giants (which featured a huge drum solo at the end with both the regular drummer as well as ben gibbard on another set of drums, playing in sync, really fucking loudly - almost teared up...), and the sound of settling. i can't complain because i've been wanting to see them for years, but it definitely could've been a better collection of songs, and not so much focused on their most popular stuff like soul meets body. but oh well. i'd marry ben gibbard.
• headed over to mstrkrft, prepared for death. instantly dripping with sweat, surrounded by horny mdma-ridden teenagers holding glowsticks, feeling so out of place, and realizing that they are not very good live because every 'song' sounds the same (song in quotations because it literally just sounded like one super extended song rather than separate ones..). decided we didn't want to be there after 25 minutes of a freakishly long man ponytail in my face, so i chose to crowd surf my way out of there. (everyone who attempted to crowd surf was brought to the front of the crowd and brought down and escorted out by security rather than being dropped back into the crowd, so once you're up, you're out of there. i gave my bag to ashley and told them to meet me at the back and i went on up. stayed up for at least 30 seconds then got lifted out by security. i knew instantly that i would never find everyone, so i decided to go to 'the pit' to wait for them there since that was our official meeting place. not bringing my phone was a terrible idea because i ended up waiting for 40 minutes while they went back into the crowd after not finding me by the stage. a drunk boy gave me a nice little striptease and i got to watch half of the flaming lips' set, which was pretty neat.

we ended the night with $30 worth of greasy delivery food, long showers, and shark week. i had a great weekend.

going to post this before i forget everything

• got to osheaga, saw that the ground in front of the stage is entirely tiny stones and mud, didn't like that
• got there right as manchester orchestra started, stood a couple rows from the front but very far to the right side of the stage, enjoyed their performance thoroughly but had to break my attention away momentarily so i could apply sunscreen because it was fucking sunny. highlights of them were shake it out, april fool and everything to nothing. andy hull is so fucking talented.
• found a shady spot and had watermelon flavoured iced tea. didn't like sitting in rocks. starting to dislike venue entirely.
• back to same stage for tokyo police club. lead dude got a haircut, doesn't look as cute. they were very good. a giant hose was circulating the stages, so we got soaked. your english is good, tesselate, and wait up were my favourites. we were a couple rows back from front and center.
• took a massively long break sitting in a new found grassy-ish location, listened to hey rosetta!, john butler (he played ocean!!!), then sam roberts. grassy spot was in the shade, and it sort of dipped down a bit from the level ground, so we took to calling it 'the pit'.
• stood back up, went to watch lupe fiasco, then realized the death from above stage was right beside, and was starting to fill up even though they weren't playing for another hour, but we went over anyway to claim a good spot, and watched lupe from there. we were a couple rows from the front, but i was determined to get closer.
• death from above starts, i'm second from the front, dead center, someone moves, i get right up against the guardrail and have the time of my fucking life being pushed around and screaming every word. i left with a huge bruise my my hip, my shirt almost ripped, disgustingly muddy shoes, and dark grey marks on the front of my shorts from the metal rail. so worth it. they fucked up a lot but it honestly didn't matter, everyone was just way too excited to care. black history month was so good, and so was romantic rights.
• booked it over to ratatat, along with everyone else who attended dfa, and somehow miraculously made it to the front row in no time. some massive fat dude started pushing through so we just followed him. this was probably the best set of the night. the stage was smaller and they were so tight. 40 minute dance party.
• back to the main stage for elvis costello, decided we didn't care that much, met a few torontonian guys, they said fucked up was playing, we decided to go. stayed for ten minutes, damien crowd surfed and everyone laughed, i pretended to mosh, ashley and heidi (and probably a few others) laughed. saw flashing lights and heard pulsating beats from the stage over. we were intrigued....
• went to fucking bassnectar and legitimately had a good time. we jokingly danced and fist pumped but then realized it was actually fun, so we went deeper into the crowd and laughed our heads off at all the serious fans and sweated a whole bunch.
• back to elvis, didn't care, went home

amazing day, tomorrow will be just as good

i miss you already

my heart has grown wings and is fluttering out of my chest cavity

wanting something bigger and better than the body it resides in

i'm trying to tie a string around it and hold it close

but i can't keep it steady

i'm working to construct sturdy organs

ones that don't leave or drift or flutter away in their own beautiful ways

it's not working as planned, the wood is getting drenched

becoming limp and bending where it shouldn't bend

but through building this i'm learning something

that maybe it's okay to let your heart leave your body

maybe we have to let go of things for certain reasons

to remember why we have them in the first place

and to learn that we can live without them for a little bit

because when they come back

they return with purpose and wisdom

and more room to hold onto the things i wish to keep inside

since they let go of everything i don't care for on their way out

---

i was looking through my drafts and found this, i have a few things saved in there that i have pulled from longer poems that i have fallen in love with and i thought this was one of them, but it turns out that i wrote it... i'm surprised but proud of myself nonetheless

an endless wait on a clock with broken hands

my stomach is twisted into a constant knot and i can't untie it

i'm tired and i'm achey and my mind is a messy place to be

stuck inside with nothing to write about besides missing you

it gets redundant after awhile, even i know that

some days are harder than others, this is one of them

nothing makes me feel more at ease than making a cup of tea, listening to tom waits, typing things i've scribbled down, remembering everything, and feeling so lucky

last time we went swimming

the sea stood up and hugged you

as though you were responsible

for keeping it blue.

there's a fine line between wanting someone so badly you feel quite close to bursting, and bursting so badly the person you want can't help but see your debris and hurry to help any survivors

sometimes i get in these moods

there are a million others just like us, just as happy and content and lingering in bed when we should be socializing and smiling and laughing down the stairs but none of that matters, not one bit, when we have this bed and we have our lips that keep finding each other and our bare legs intertwined and our hands learning each other still after all this time, still figuring out new ways to make the other gasp or shiver or giggle while sneaking fingertips under shirt hems, completely immune to everything else past this bed, we're the castle and the floor is the moat, and all those millions of others happily in their own beds, in their own castles, bridges drawn up, sharing their own kind of love and their own kind of whatever they choose to be and enjoy, none of that matters at all because my fingers are snaking up your backbone and yours are trailing down my leg and not a single knight in any far away kingdom could pull me away from this

you took me and you kissed me like it was the first day we met, like it was the first time you had felt the urge to take my head in your hands and just fucking kiss me, and i felt it, and i fell for you, i fell the first time and i fell this time too, tripping over my feet again, just like i always do, clumsily running down that hill, falling, falling, falling, falling for you all over, like i do everyday, every single day, more and more, because i just can't help but be so recklessly in love with you, i really can't

maybe i talk too much. maybe that's when i'm supposed to kiss you.

just let me live between your eyelids

while you drift in and out of sleep

so i can be with you

even when your eyes are closed

and when your world is dark

i'll be a little light

left on while you dream

and when you wake up

you can be my little light

always guiding me home

and back into bed

goddamn, how do you always know? continue to surprise me, i'll never tire of your promises

i want to trainwreck into you, destroy your rib cage and set fire to your soft tissue then kiss it all better. break your arms so they fit better around me, cut your hair, call you beautiful, tell you that i am ruined without you, tell you my railroads turn to rubble once you leave. always have. derail me, let me be the biggest disaster your love has ever seen and i will put all the pieces back together better than before

nothing has ever felt so bizarre. that fucking mat, stuck under the front door, only moving when pushed with extreme force, felt like more of a bother than usual. that boy in your bed, greeting me with a pleasant "what the fuck?", your half-naked bodies glistening with sweat, disgusting me. that bong on the kitchen table, probably left with remnants of last night, causing the room to leave a dingy lingering smell behind, long after the music ended and your lips touched and everyone else went home. that bedroom door, that i've come to fear opening, leading to that bedroom, that fucking bedroom, where i've learned a lot and made a lot of mistakes and fucked up and fucked and hated and loved and lived because i ended up stuck there for reasons i don't care to think about, that fucking bedroom now filled with half-empty beer cans and dirty tissues and messy blankets and messier piles of dirty clothes, all things with someone else's name tag on them, because i don't live here anymore. we got a new mat in the bathroom. it smelled musty in there. i tried to quietly leave but realized i didn't care anymore and i slammed the door, hoping you'd wake up with a jolt and feel a sting of anger towards me, and maybe guilt, but probably not. the walk down the hallway felt hot and crowded. the elevator ride down 7 flights felt unsettling and constricting. i stepped out to breathe and realized i didn't have anywhere to go. i started to cry. not because i was sad. i was so angry. upset. disappointed. confused. why did this happen? i hate everything you stand for now. everything.

i don't know how this started or where i was going but it's nice to get things out once in awhile.

my porcelain skin matches these cold feelings and winter blizzards fogging up what's in front of me

that constant yearning

for another almost-moment

at the end of a bedframe

anything to shake

the dust from my

worried mind

it's really nothing

new

your eyelids are quivering

you're half asleep

the sun streams

through your window

the same way it

always does

leaving streaks of gold

in our hair

i watch a small feather

flutter on your arm

every time you exhale

before i quietly blow it

away into the mess of

blankets

i run my hand up and

down your back, following

the curve of your spine

and letting my fingers

dance over your shoulderblades

"wake up"

you rustle then open an eye

clumsily roll over to my side

and kiss my cheek, then

proceed to fall asleep

again instantly

i don't care

it is sunday morning

and i am still tired and

you are beside me and i

have never felt so safe

and at home

thank you

i've never let my tears roll past my own cheeks

i'll wipe them away before anyone catches them

but i let them fall further than i'm used to last night

they collected and dampened your shirt

and i know you tell me not to say sorry

but i feel like a burden sometimes

a millstone tangled around your sleepy body

letting go limb by limb eventually

but only when you say everything's okay

and only when i finally believe you

so i can drift to sleep with hopeful thoughts

instead of the heavy loads of cargo

weighing down my mind

secrets don't make friends

everyone's been smoothing it

down but i took the initiative

to peel back the chipped paint and

let that stark white wall beneath

stick out ugly and true

because it needed to be freed

because everything needs

breathing room sometimes

even you

even me

why does everything make me feel sad late at night?

my teeth are gritted and my hands are raw but you're probably used to me like that, romanticizing of distant places hoping i can pull both of us into them instead of sitting and waiting for something bigger and better in this reality. my jaw is getting sore. i'm running out of skin to peel back from my fingertips. everything is tender and open and cold and it all hurts so much. i want to throw my cold into your heat and watch the fire rise and engulf us whole because i'm getting tired of waiting for something bigger and better and i'm starting to believe this is it. prove to me it isn't.

what they don't tell you is that the old little man who sold the magical beans to jack jumped off of the nearest suspension bridge once he found out how much gold had come from it. "all that glitters isnt gold because you are useless", his wife had told him. and he agreed. and he didnt try and swim. and he smiled a little at how warm it was, surprisingly, this late in the year.

honesty 101: i know i don't need you because you only bring me down but everything is so different now and it hit me today how much a year can change things and it just really sucks.

"i do not exist", we faithfully insist,

while watching sink the heavy ship with everything we knew.

and if ever you come near, i'll hold up high a mirror.

lord, i could never show you anything as beautiful as you.

plucking feathers from pillowcases

watching them start out thin

then spread out wide and free

i'd like nothing more than

to be like a feather contained

only under you

while you drape my face with kisses

and i envelop your body with fingertips

instead of digging into these pillows

watching the seconds tick past

with a heap of flimsy plume to my right

and a burning craving for you

in the left of my chest cavity

then what is emptiness for?

to

fill,

fill.

let me have this memory. please, let me have just this one. please.

i'm sorry for lingering but i just never wanted you to let go of me

you're the definition of what i need and i'm holding on tight

sometimes i realize how in love i am and i just can't help myself

like the sailboat on the chain around your neck

you follow a path on my skin

and there's nothing i want more

than your fingers drifting through my current

it's almost enough, but not quite

wouldn't it be nice to try and earn wings?

please don't be technology

so i can turn up your love

like some cold machine

don't feed me scraps from your bed

and i won't be the stray coming back

just to be fed

don't be waves

come to steal my fate, marine

just pretend

that you want me

and be my bait

don't be that note i can't hold

don't be that joke that i told

and told

'til it got old

don't be that hand around my throat

so i can't breathe

you say you're my friend

but why won't you be my family?

well, if you breed

just don't tell me

be my bait

be my serene

tell me you know what i mean

you've set on me but you are not the sun

and you will not listen

it's not just about the love that i have

it's about the amount of it

how much of it i can hold in my hands

how much of it i can throw into your face

how much of it i can let drip off my skin and into your pores

how much of it i can whisper in your ear

how much of it i can scratch into your back

how much of it i can carry on my shoulders

until i grow too weary to move on

from the weight of the heart that beats for you

brush the dirt from my fingertips and take my hand. we're not always at our best but i know we're always trying to make it right, to keep it right. we may be particles of dust in this endless atmosphere but we're capable of so much more than we think we are.

love everyone, every leaf, every brave light

bury yourself in words.

make time for important people.

be brave and kind.

take more risks.

fill your cracks with patience.

spend quiet moments in thought.

collect stories.

keep occupied.

take note of small details.

allow yourself to fall into things.

care undeniably about things.

it means everything to me

to be doing nothing with you

the act of convincing myself otherwise

it's my birthday in five minutes and although i've always believed that age is just a number you use to get into bars or to connect with people or to make a point or to write down on forms that you fill out, being alive for two whole decades is sort of a weird feeling.

i don't have any revelations or reflections or any bullshit to talk about, but i just want to say that i'm really fucking lucky.

there's a lump in my throat that i

can't seem to get rid of

it's full of the words i wish i could say

to the point where i try to

swallow it

with my pride

but i know it's no good

sometimes

i get scared

and sometimes i want to cry

but i can't explain it

it's just this lump

this fucking lump in my throat

wedged between my heart

and my mouth

i can't connect the two

so i'm stuck with this feeling

of wanting to get things out

things that are fucking stuck

they're just words, right?

it can't be that hard

oh,

but it is

"learning how to love something back"

annoyed and irritated and forever not openly talking about it

i really do fall for you more and more every day

the tattoo i got today should ideally be placed with this poem because it is for you:

let me grow lovely, growing old --

so many fine things do:

laces, and ivory, and gold,

and silks need not be new;

and there is healing in old trees,

old streets a glamour hold;

why may not i, as well as these,

grow lovely, growing old?

i was sitting in the kitchen, drinking a cup of coffee, and it all came flashing back. everything i remembered about the place, about you, about that phone call...

i miss your backyard, walking past the trees, looking up and feeling dizzy because they seemed to travel right into the sky. i miss playing mortal kombat on that squeaky old mattress in the guest room, always having to wipe the dust off the tv because we were the only people that used it. i miss looking at the progression of the puzzle you'd have sitting out on that folding card table, always moving along slowly but surely, never wanting any help. i miss that massive spoon collection, seeing all those school portraits and birthday cards sitting on your desk, that jar of mints that always sat by the front door, how you always watched baseball.

i always watch where i step now, a subconscious behaviour after visiting you so many times, haivng to step over your oxygen cord. i always get a little nervous when my mother calls me late at night, because i remember when i got that call about you. these little things upset me, but i know you've always been a bit of an optimist so i try and do the same.

i did something for you today, and it's going to be with me forever. i hope you're proud of me. i love you.

heavy rain is so desperate and compelling

screaming from the sky

hitting the earth with all the power in the world

i feel so heated and passionate and it hurts

but in the best way possible

although truth be told

my bedroom is lonely

i've always wanted to say it but i've never had the courage or the chance:

i am so sorry.

i walked past your old house today and i was flooded with memories. i was wading knee deep in everything we've been through, how drastically our lives have changed since i last saw you.

i remember peeking through the front window of your house when we would sneak out, afraid your mother had seen us, and double checking just to be sure. i remember the first day you got that ugly dog, and how it couldn't climb the stairs. i remember every saturday night at your dad's house, drunk off whatever we could get our hands on, sixteen and naive. i remember driving in your car late at night, blasting sappy country music, whenever you broke up with your boyfriend of the week, not saying a word because i know you didn't like to talk when you're not ready.

i remember that accident, how far away i was, how close i could've been, and how much you didn't care. i remember that phone call, how my stomach dropped, and my mind continued to spin, half-drunk, and wanting to run and be there for the people who needed me, and how much you didn't care. i remember that weekend, how heartbroken i was, how much i wanted someone to talk to, how much i needed you, and how much you didn't care.

it didn't take me long to realize that you cared about nothing besides yourself and your own wellbeing. crying because things wouldn't go your way. i will always know you as the girl with tears streaming down her face, so afraid of being forgotten.

i am in such a good place right now.

no naked desperation, no subtle hints of fear or loathing. just happy and content and comfortable.

i love you, and you, and you, and you, and especially you.

i've been falling in love with words again recently and i couldn't be happier but tonight will be a little more subtle.

i'll just state that you are the most inspiring person i have ever had the pleasure of meeting and knowing that you're not in the right state makes me ache inside. you pulled me in close and i never wanted you to let go. you whispered in my ear, "you will be something. you will. you will." and i've never felt so much joy sprouting up from my lungs, rushing past my heart, jumping through my throat, and almost causing me to break down and cry right there on the spot. it's not just because you were whispering inspiring words, it's because i know that you believe it.

and maybe that will help me believe it too. you free my weighted heart and i love you.

part of me, apart from me

lay on me like water

soak into my skin

absorb every inch of me

settle in puddles

in the dips of my spine

i'll shiver from head to toe

the water will quiver

as my bones will too

you can be cold to the touch

but i've warmed up to you nicely

"that's the problem with you writers. there's too many words. always looking for an antidote for the emptiness of existence."

for you, because it's been awhile

i knew you once but now you are foreign to me. i remember how we felt like we were capable of so much, how we felt like we could take on the world, but you burnt that bridge down as quickly as we built it up. i don't regret it but i sure as hell question it. i remember moving. we moved like we were scared of the dark, close and safe, blind and fumbling. we didn't want to look back but we were even more worried of looking ahead. so there we stayed, locked in that moment, wading in the darkness, forcing the hands on the clock to stop from ticking away, pushing us into a future we weren't ready for. i always convinced myself this was the right thing to do but i've learned a lot since then. it didn't last long, it was inevitable that the clock hands would ignite and set fire to our plan and that bridge and our bones and we would be forced to move on, but for the time being it was nice. every shard of it has stayed in my mind as a comfortable memory to cling onto with delicate fingers and i appreciate every ounce of your being. i hope you are well. i know you'll do something big. you deserve to.

why why why why why why why why why why why

a) can i never explain myself

b) can i never control this

c) can i never fucking explain myself

i can't keep letting myself fall into this pool

the edges are slippery but i need to learn to get a grip

and sort out my priorities so i don't end up sitting here

alone and tired and wishing i was somewhere else

with someone else doing something else, anything else

besides getting wrapped up and drowning in my own thoughts

for you, in an attempt to unravel my most important memory

i remember every detail of it like it happened five minutes ago and i have faith that it will stick with me like syrupy honey on the tips of my fingers, messy and pure.

i don't think there are enough words in the english language, or any language for that matter, that can articulate how powerful everything was and how slowly the earth turned on its axis, letting each second pass at a pace that we decided on, because we were in control.

it started with a balcony, three floors up, barred like a jail cell, but with room between each beam for our legs to fit through, dangling over the cool earth, swinging aimlessly. we talked. i never was very good at opening up, so i did more listening, but they didn't mind. we were content until i saw that tear fall out of her eye and i knew i had to do something. i stood up. my feet were working faster than my brain but i let them lead.

they led me to the golf course. the vast space of perfectly cut grass, open and empty and ready for me. i didn't wait to see if they were behind me. i just ran. i ran and ran and fucking ran until i couldn't feel anything - and maybe that's why i started running in the first place. i let the blades of damp grass stick to the backs of my bare legs and i let my hair get caught in the wind that hit my face with force and determination and i let my eyes fill with tears for no reason and every reason and i let every natural inhibition fade away into the dark night.

i stopped running and turned around to see that they had followed me - they didn't have to, but they did. they ran because it felt good to just run. to just hit the ground and run. out of breath, i let my body dive into the soft grass staring into the infinite sky. i have never felt so small and insignificant, and i have never felt happier about that feeling. that overwhelming thought that we are nothing but particles of dust in this overflowing world, temporary and decaying by the minute.

i raised my hand into the air, noticing every pore in my skin and every star in the sky, and watched as the clouds parted to reveal the most full, purple atmosphere i have ever seen. i couldn't help but let the tears pour out of my eyes all over again. i looked to my left and they were there, lying in the same grass, crying the same tears, feeling the same thing - we were satisfied.

i was aware of everything but felt like i knew nothing; bewildered by everything this universe was presenting me with, knowing i had my scars for specific reasons and knowing that i would acquire more for other specific reasons, and knowing that i could never tell anyone exactly how this felt, because it was impossible to explain. we all knew we were in this and we were part of something fucking real and bittersweet, and although we've never spoken of it since, i know that they remember too.

so there we were, in the grass, reaching and grasping for the moon to come closer, knowing that we would never have another moment quite like this one. although i've always tried to write about this, i've never been able to find the right words to explain everything. all i know is that i've never felt so awake.

everything is heavy in my mind but i've become good at holding my head high despite the weight my thoughts anchor me down with

i promised that i would write for someone new every day but for some reason i can't get over this hurdle. he said that "all roads to lead to home" and i know that if i traced my finger back along my path i know you'd have your two feet planted at the end of the trail. through all your personal earthquakes and twisters, you've managed to keep your feet standing still. a tree with its roots dug deep into the earth's core, you never come uprooted no matter how strong the wind blows.

these quandaries and plights try to break you down but you hold your own. there's nothing i can say that can be equivalent to how much i respect you and how proud i am of you but here's an attempt.

i've fallen in glass many times before, i've been responsible for dropping the glass in the first place a lot of times, but i always find myself a helpless adolescent, exhausted and suspended in a wave of unsureness. i know now, because of you, broken glass can be pulled out of gashes and cuts, leaving only lines of deep red behind, stinging for a moment or two, but devoured by new skin later.

i often find myself looking for new ways to interpret the truth of how i feel about you, and i've realized that you are incomparable. i can soften this thought with little metaphors of broken glass and sturdy trees but there's really no way anyone can describe the feeling of being completely boundless and breathless and recklessly and effortlessly in love without simply saying it like that.

you are my way home.

i have been waiting for my turn. my go. my comet to slip through my fingers no longer, for they are clenched close, so nothing can escape once i get a grip on the elusive celestial beings that can't even hold a candle to all that glowers deep in the caverns of your tiny chest, beating 700 million times before you die. and i just want one of those beats to be for me, to beat to speed a little bit faster, skip like hopscotched youth, because of me.

brb crying

take everything you've ever loved and hold it in the palm of your hand.

clench your fist and pray that something in the sky can turn these invisible moments and beautiful becomings into something real to look forward to.

i always feel furthest from you around this time

between the hours of 2 and 4 in the morning

when my eyelids start to get heavy and my mind slows down

you've gone to sleep long ago but i'm still here

i sift through pages of versions of love and lust

reading other people's interpretations of how to live

being told to "go out there and make something happen"

because "life is short" and that "i'm young so i can do anything"

but truthfully if i were to "go out there and make something happen"

the only thing i can think to do involves the longest line of rope

and enough coordination in my hand and eye

to tie that rope around your heart and pull you back here

while i lie awake in the darkest room

feeling this distance more than ever

"wouldn't it be nice if i had answers like that? a flick of my wrist or tongue and you feel better, pick up a pen and string ribbon through the typewriter teeth and everything flows like the mississippi - but i don't. i'm as lost as you are, at this point, i think. maybe just today is one of those days and you caught me in a weird place on a bad point in a shitty storm. but that's what has to happen and the difference maker is whether or not we can bounce back. i hate the city i live in at this point, i am so depressed i can't even clean the apartment basically, and stay high all day every day so i don't have to realize how unhappy i am. it's about the bounce back once the lifelessness goes away, because it does.

it gets better, it has before and it will again. the songs say so, the poets say so, the fairy princesses have told us time and time again. how about we hang in there together, huh?"

it's strange how someone can give me such strong advice and encouragement even though i have never heard their voice, or seen what they really look like - only what they are capable of. this is enough.

things to do if you become lace

string mountains, sift through

the gaps in your fingertips,

tie you up with love

a follow up:

you are the reason i keep trying.

i guess it just comes down to what makes me feel something. anything.

what sinks into my core and stays there, firmly and grounded, to remind me later when i need something to get me going again.

what used to make my heart burst and my spine tingle with goosebumps now stares me blankly in the face, flat and uninteresting.

everything has changed and my passion has twisted down a different road, forgetting to hand me a map.

retracing my steps, hoping to find where i lost my mind or my determination, but i'm really fucking lost.

peeling the fabric from my skin

giving your imagination the satisfaction it craves

we swore this wouldn't happen again

but we lie through our teeth

because you're crushing me in the sweetest fashion

reading my goosebumps like braille

it feels new

although you've memorized the lines

tangled together like knots

simultaneous breathing at the highest of frequencies

to your pleasure i'm starting to unravel

just as you are too

biting my tongue to keep this secret safe

but it's hard to hold anything back

when my guard is non-existent

just know that i'm trying to do this right

so i'm defenceless and open

and i'm all yours

it's not about forcing happiness,

it's about not letting sadness win

i have to stop letting things get under my skin

i need to learn to peel the layers back

and let the bad parts out

before they consume me entirely

only anchors can keep me from moving forward

and even if

it's only you

that's enough

sometimes it just takes that certain song, at that certain time, with certain words spilled out from someone else's heart to really get to me.

and now is one of those times.

i know you will never read this but i promise that i will try harder to let you know how much i truly do appreciate every fragment of your existence.

i am so incredibly sorry for everything you have had to go through, because you don't deserve it. you don't deserve to have your heart ripped out of your chest, leaving a gaping hole for everyone to gawk at.

you inspire me to no end, and i hope that you are aware of everything that you are capable of, despite the bruises you may get along the way.

when i hear the rain i'm reminded of you

when the sky cries out to the earth, theatrically and unconfined

everything is loud and dark and hanging low

and it feels like when you tried on your parents' coat as a child

and everything is overwhelming and heavy but you know you're safe

it's the same when i'm in your presence

and torrential downpours bring back these feelings

so when i hear the rain i'm reminded of you

i always feel like this writing becomes a waste of time and ends up tangled in a web of clumsy syllables and constanants in which i messily try to pull into a straight line of organized thoughts

like a complex of fleeting moments that stick to my fingers for mere seconds, before i wash them away willingly and simply

i am my own worst critic, i know that, but you can't blame me for wanting more out of this

i realize that sometimes i need to take a breath and step away from the pen and let the thoughts that mean something come to me at the times that i expect it the least

like on a long drive, or in the wee hours of the morning, half asleep with heavy eyelids, scribbled into that notebook beside my bed that has collected dust for far too long

from now on, i want to try my best to give my words capacity, something tangible and dense

i don't want silly verbs and flimsy prefixes tossed together, something that sounds pretty but means shit to me, or you, or anyone

i want my words to feel heavy in your head and heavy in your heart, not something to be delicately skimmed through

i want my words to be something that you pine for, something that makes you ache, and something that makes me feel like i have lifted a huge weight off my shoulders every time that i put down the pen or pull the paper from the typewriter

so this is my attempt to not only find inspiration by looking at things, but through experiencing things, and getting hurt and being brave, so i have something to write about late at night just like i am now, only with less tact and a more reckless spirit and an uninhibited mind

because that's what being young is all about right?

passing the microphone to a gifted preacher

letting him spill sentences of love and truth

but never knowing what it means

realizing we can't learn through words and syllables

and that we'd rather discover with our hands and feet

walking this dirty earth

letting the soles of our feet grow calloused and tough

holding hands as tight as we can

drawing circles on each others palms

learning the dips and cracks we receive along the way

showing the preacher that we weren't made for listening to rules

because we'd rather make our own

so we mark our own path, leaving footprints behind

two sets of them, in sync with one another

in all this dirt and mud and clay of the earth

a constant reminder that we belong here

and that we're in this together

right here

and right now.

i like the times that i don't need words to explain how much you mean to me

and i can express it through ways i'm more comfortable doing so

like with sweet expressions and warm kisses

because to be honest,

i'd rather count your rib bones and freckles

with my fingers than with numbers

trees will make a forest, trees will make a bow

these are all the harder words you have to know

if everyone'a structure where their own saviour sits,

then i'm a little red house but no one's living in it

cars are little blood cells, we are oxygen

city is the airways, suburbs appendages

she was feeling lonely, tired of the hive

rented out a family, and he bought a bride

little cities' names on very lonely maps

they tied her up and laid her on the train tracks

where are all the seedlings we grew for violins?

down in jersey lumber, still in prosthetic limbs

should've been a soldier, i could've fought and died

there's no revolution, so i bought a bride

coming down the aisle while the horns play taps

they tied her up and laid her on the train tracks

if somehow i was new and everything was unsaid

i'd go and buy a hammer, never sing again

sleeping on a stairway, dreamt i had a boat

sailed it out the harbour, shot it full of holes

folded up my prayer book, i couldn't see the lines

drowning in a kelp bed, i bought a bride

we only have what we remember.

to really think about it is a little scary

to read between the lines and analyze the words that are said

although it's simply put, it's a lot to ask

and a lot to take in

and a lot to trust and believe in and share in return

it's not just saying that i love you

it's saying that i'm in love with you

it makes my fingers shake

my heart go numb

my knees tense up

but despite the natural reactions that my body can't help

my mind is steady and it's telling me:

yes

to the moon and back

i'm coming to terms that i'm not concerned

with planting my feet but looking onward

i'm growing older but i can't get over

the need of colder skin when i know that home is warmer

it's just that i have this problem

where i want to be everywhere i'm not

i'm thankful for what i've got

a room in a house where my bed may stay

but the feel of another's sheets help keep my demons away

it's beome clear that what keeps me here

is the sense of failure and other nightmares

i've become jaded and i can't escape it

the thought of settling when i know it's what i've hated

it's just that i have this problem

where i want to be everywhere i'm not

it's just i know myself and i'll sacrifice everything i've got

though i can't afford to eat as much as i should be

and my bills won't pay themselves so i'll come up with another scheme

this place looks better from a passenger window

or stared at from above

but when you're chasing brightness

you lose concern with the damage done

it's not my fault

i'll try to call

no ties no roots i'm fine